Friday, 29 June 2012
The Aftermath - Post #26
Sir Nut Bar's implications were the simplest. Other than the time he put aside for the trip, not much else would change. He would leave and arrive back later than originally anticipated. But the duration would remain the same. A scheduling issue, nothing more.
The situation for me and my brother was significantly more involved. Even more so for the bro', because the U.S. lock-down would be considerably longer than ours in Canada. He needed to get from San Francisco to Vancouver and, as it turned out, my plane went ahead on schedule. His did not.
He learned quickly that there was no way a plane was to be leaving San Fran on Sept. 13. In fact, I believe it was about a week before the airspace in the U.S. was opened up again. Now, you might think in light of the events the reasonable thing to do would be to stay home and feel OK with that decision. Angel had rather vehemently stressed this option. And she had done so with the possible understanding that the United States would be declaring war with a very nebulous adversary. And my plan was, prior to all this, to bring the bike home through the States.
I had driven the Canadian route in my university years. Been there, done that. What we had planned for this wee adventure called for something completely different. A route through Washington, Idaho, Montana, Wyoming and South Dakota with Yellowstone and Sturgis, South Dakota as highlights on the list. And now I was hearing that Angel felt traveling through the US at this time was likely going to be fraught with unnecessary difficulty. She had suggested that border crossings could only serve to exacerbate the potentially troublesome situation. And with the military, National Guard and/or State Militia's presence everywhere, she envisioned us landing in a whole pile of trouble.
I, on the other hand, believed there couldn't be a safer place in the whole world than America in the immediate aftermath following the big event.
Not that it was a huge point of contention; after all, she did play a giant role in bringing this dream to fruition. But I REALLY wanted to bring the bike back through the States. And in the end I was willing to accept that she had a valid concern and if my plane was to fly, I would bring the bike home while riding within Canada.
Simple enough. Me bro', on the other hand, had a more difficult situation. When he heard my plane was to go, he hadn't yet heard from his wife, who was on business in London at the time. She had tried to reach him on the West Coast but I guess the phone lines were overloaded and she couldn't get through. And he had to make a quick decision. If he was to still participate he was going to have to rent cars and make the drive. And that meant he had to get started immediately if he was to meet the schedule.
At the time of his departure, he hadn't heard for certain that my plane would fly on time. He set out in the rental from San Francisco hoping that I would get away close to the scheduled flight. The drive would take him about 16 hours to do the 1,600 kms. But he would likely need to change rental cars at the border adding time to the overall production. Which in the end, is exactly what happened. So he set out, not having reached his wife and not having confirmed that my plane would leave on time. My travel agent tells me Wednesday to go to the airport, as planned, Thursday morning, expecting to fly. There may be delays, but it is likely that I would get away.
Very optimistic.
The Snag - Post #25
We had set everything in motion. My 'bro was ready to fly from San Fran. His rental hog was all lined up. "NB" had the Bimmer tuned up and ready to fly. I had completed the deal, ownership papers in hand, the Ontario plates secured, packed the luggage, and I was told my baby awaits my arrival at the showroom in Vancouver. Anticipation was reaching a boil.
Then, two days from my departure date for Vancouver, the most unbelievable event unfolds on my computer screen. I was sitting at my desk at work at 8:45 a.m., contemplating the day ahead, wondering what excitement it would bring. The typical daily life of a salesman living the moment on the edge. I just adored that roller coaster ride when the news comes that the deal you've been working on for two years craters and . . . no money from that one! Or, even better, the phone rings and you hear the deal is done and you get to feed the family for the next month. Awesome!
Well, news comes in many forms and on that day a colleague of mine sticks his beak in my office door and says:
"Did you hear what just happened in New York"?
"Ahh . . . there's a lot going on in N.Y. most the time. More specific, please".
"Turn on your computer and get to CNN"
I do.
And I watch over and over again, in utter disbelief as a fully loaded passenger jet flies into the World Trade Center.
Followed by a second.
I must admit, watching the first plane's approach --- and ultimate demise --- I immediately thought in the early moments that it had to be pilot error, or that something was terribly wrong mechanically with the plane to cause this catastrophe. It was simply unfathomably to me that this event could possibly have been willful.
And then then second plane arrives on the scene. And the magnitude of the horror is over whelming. Like they said. That moment changed and redefined the future of the United States forever. Unthinkable how anyone could harbor such hatred of someone else's philosophy or their way of life. I would never be able to grasp the motivation behind such an act. The rest of my morning was spent watching the events unfold on my computer. Eventually I pulled myself away, came home early, got the kids to bed and sat with Angel in front of the TV.
How do you explain that to young kids?
Eventually the two of us had to face this new reality and, on a more mundane level, how it would affect my trip west. At the least, it would likely need to be delayed because all planes in North America were grounded for the immediate future. My plane was scheduled to leave Toronto on Sept. 13 at 6:30 a.m. I contacted my travel agent and she said to stand by but, at the moment it wasn't looking too good to go. Angel suggests that I consider an all-out cancel. Put the bike on a train and ship it. Ouch!!! What an absolutely, unbelievably terrible idea.
But possibly the sensible course of action.
I began looking into the cost of canceling my hotel accommodation in the hope, at that point, it was simply a postponement and not a cancellation.
The Logistics - Post #24
The issue was that I needed to land in Vancouver with the bike signed, sealed and in my name, prior to my arrival because I did not want to have to have to deal with any possible cock-ups that might arise. And the Agreement of Purchase and Sale had to be fully executed in order for that to happen. And the Agreement of P&S had to include the reference to the license plate. And the bike was being purchased in B.C. Which meant B.C. plates. Gigi informs me she would have to put a B.C. plate on the bike, reference it on the documents, and courier me the documents for signature.
Not good. That would have just created additional paper work and additional cost to license twice, because that would require a transfer to Ontario plates upon arrival home. I asked her to consider, instead, sending me all the information on the specific bike, including the VIN number. I would register the bike here in Ontario, buy my Ontario plates and send her the plate information. She could then complete the Agreement of P&S, referencing the Ontario license, and courier them back to me for signature. Not exactly standard procedure, but in the end, she agreed.
With the Acquisition-of-the-Bike part of the deal concluded, it was time to focus on the logistics of getting it home. Two other individuals wanted to be involved in the whole adventure to assist. And neither of them were Angel(s!). She felt the whole idea of an across-the-country purchase was ever so slightly whack. So she opts out. No, it was my brother and the Nut Bar with the Bimmer that wanted in.
Me bro' was living in San Francisco at the time all this came together. He elects to fly to Vancouver, hook up upon my arrival and rent a bike from Deeley. We would then spend a few days putting the required 1,600 kms on my hog traveling around Van, service the bike, i.e. new oil and fluids, before heading home. We needed to plan for a route that was 1,600 kms, round trip from Vancouver, before the first service. For the bro', all this is easy. Fly in. Rent. Ride for three days. Fly out.
The plan for the Nut Bar is a wee bit more complex. He decided he would leave Toronto on his BMW, drive straight to Vancouver with as much 'Non-Stop' as he can handle, meet up with us, possibly in time for as much of the three-day break-in cruise that he can and then, ultimately, escort me home to Toronto. Including the 1,600 kms breaking-in part, that is roughly 10,000 kilometers in 10 days. Now I have always adored long-distance rides, but I told him he's crazed just the same. He insisted that from an Iron Butt point of view, it was "a piece of cake".
The Iron Butt Association. Fifty thousand members world wide. And 50,000 of the toughest riders on the planet, according to their logo on their web site. These folks are extreme when it comes to long-distance endurance riding. I have no idea how long the organization has been in existence. There is little info available. What is available are the rules and regulations associated with earning the accolades from your fellow riders for completing incredibly difficult journeys. If you care for a taste of what these folks are all about you can read more here:
www.ironbutt.com/about/default.cfm
DO NOT try this stuff at home!!! I think you need to be somewhat unhinged to attempt this stuff. I would like to think that they are professionals and therefore completely capable but I'm not so sure. There are no membership fees. There are no prizes. And there are very few rules and regulations. All you have to do to gain entrance to this very exclusive club is prove you met the club's threshold and actually did the ride you claim, supported by gas and mileage receipts. And signed off by independent witnesses at both the Start and Finish Lines. NB had done all his research. He knew all about these folks and was convinced he would fit right in.
Not good. That would have just created additional paper work and additional cost to license twice, because that would require a transfer to Ontario plates upon arrival home. I asked her to consider, instead, sending me all the information on the specific bike, including the VIN number. I would register the bike here in Ontario, buy my Ontario plates and send her the plate information. She could then complete the Agreement of P&S, referencing the Ontario license, and courier them back to me for signature. Not exactly standard procedure, but in the end, she agreed.
With the Acquisition-of-the-Bike part of the deal concluded, it was time to focus on the logistics of getting it home. Two other individuals wanted to be involved in the whole adventure to assist. And neither of them were Angel(s!). She felt the whole idea of an across-the-country purchase was ever so slightly whack. So she opts out. No, it was my brother and the Nut Bar with the Bimmer that wanted in.
Me bro' was living in San Francisco at the time all this came together. He elects to fly to Vancouver, hook up upon my arrival and rent a bike from Deeley. We would then spend a few days putting the required 1,600 kms on my hog traveling around Van, service the bike, i.e. new oil and fluids, before heading home. We needed to plan for a route that was 1,600 kms, round trip from Vancouver, before the first service. For the bro', all this is easy. Fly in. Rent. Ride for three days. Fly out.
The plan for the Nut Bar is a wee bit more complex. He decided he would leave Toronto on his BMW, drive straight to Vancouver with as much 'Non-Stop' as he can handle, meet up with us, possibly in time for as much of the three-day break-in cruise that he can and then, ultimately, escort me home to Toronto. Including the 1,600 kms breaking-in part, that is roughly 10,000 kilometers in 10 days. Now I have always adored long-distance rides, but I told him he's crazed just the same. He insisted that from an Iron Butt point of view, it was "a piece of cake".
The Iron Butt Association. Fifty thousand members world wide. And 50,000 of the toughest riders on the planet, according to their logo on their web site. These folks are extreme when it comes to long-distance endurance riding. I have no idea how long the organization has been in existence. There is little info available. What is available are the rules and regulations associated with earning the accolades from your fellow riders for completing incredibly difficult journeys. If you care for a taste of what these folks are all about you can read more here:
www.ironbutt.com/about/default.cfm
DO NOT try this stuff at home!!! I think you need to be somewhat unhinged to attempt this stuff. I would like to think that they are professionals and therefore completely capable but I'm not so sure. There are no membership fees. There are no prizes. And there are very few rules and regulations. All you have to do to gain entrance to this very exclusive club is prove you met the club's threshold and actually did the ride you claim, supported by gas and mileage receipts. And signed off by independent witnesses at both the Start and Finish Lines. NB had done all his research. He knew all about these folks and was convinced he would fit right in.
The Deal of a Life Time - Post #23
Trevor Deeley, of Deeley Import,s resided in Vancouver, as have his family for many years. He and his papa, Fred, are icons in the motorcycle world. His dad started selling Harleys, imported from Milwaukee, in 1917 making Deeley Imports one of the oldest motorcycle dealerships in the world. In 1973 Trevor was asked by Harley Davidson to become the exclusive distributor for HD in Canada. He accepted. And since that time, every Harley sold in Canada has been brought into the country through Fred Deeley Imports, Vancouver.
What better place to go to get my machine? I phoned him. He didn't answer. Right away that is. After running the gantlet of gate keepers, I was able to convince one of them that my need was absolutely urgent and that nothing less than leaving a direct message for Mr. Deeley on his voice mail would suffice. I am, after all, a salesman.
So the message was left.
"Mr. Deeley, sir. I need to talk to you about purchasing a new Heritage Softail through your Vancouver store. I reside in Toronto. I am 42 years old and I have wanted this bike all my life. The fact that my circumstance has recently afforded me the opportunity to actually proceed with an acquisition, is a bit of a wee miracle. At least in my mind. So here I am. This event is so monumental for me the only way I can put this together that reflects the magnitude of the purchase itself, is to make a deal with you, fly to Vancouver and ride 'er home. Please call me to discuss the possibility when you have the time".
A week later I am sitting at my desk at the office working. The phone rings.
"Hello, Peters speaking".
"Mr. Peters, Trev Deeley calling from Vancouver. I understand from your message you have a very important, life-long dream that needs to be realized. I am returning your call to inform you that there is nothing that we here at Deeley would be more pleased to do than to assist you in making your dream come true. After all, you are a very important person".
"Mr Deeley, sir. Thank you for the kind thought. But I sir, am but a piece of shit. You on the other hand, are a very important person. I thank you so very much for taking the time out of your schedule to return my call.
Not generally the way I would speak on the phone with a 'First Contact'. But we were talking motorcycles here, biker to biker. We discussed the bike. Standard package. He told me the price. I agreed. It's like buying a Ferrari. You don't negotiate the price. He then brought his finance gal, Gigi, on the line to work out the details and, leaving me in good hands, he bids me adieu.
Gigi is fantastic. Pictures of the bike were emailed. Upgrades discussed and agreed to and the final price list is forwarded. The deal was completed that day. The only glitch was getting it inked.
What better place to go to get my machine? I phoned him. He didn't answer. Right away that is. After running the gantlet of gate keepers, I was able to convince one of them that my need was absolutely urgent and that nothing less than leaving a direct message for Mr. Deeley on his voice mail would suffice. I am, after all, a salesman.
So the message was left.
"Mr. Deeley, sir. I need to talk to you about purchasing a new Heritage Softail through your Vancouver store. I reside in Toronto. I am 42 years old and I have wanted this bike all my life. The fact that my circumstance has recently afforded me the opportunity to actually proceed with an acquisition, is a bit of a wee miracle. At least in my mind. So here I am. This event is so monumental for me the only way I can put this together that reflects the magnitude of the purchase itself, is to make a deal with you, fly to Vancouver and ride 'er home. Please call me to discuss the possibility when you have the time".
A week later I am sitting at my desk at the office working. The phone rings.
"Hello, Peters speaking".
"Mr. Peters, Trev Deeley calling from Vancouver. I understand from your message you have a very important, life-long dream that needs to be realized. I am returning your call to inform you that there is nothing that we here at Deeley would be more pleased to do than to assist you in making your dream come true. After all, you are a very important person".
"Mr Deeley, sir. Thank you for the kind thought. But I sir, am but a piece of shit. You on the other hand, are a very important person. I thank you so very much for taking the time out of your schedule to return my call.
Not generally the way I would speak on the phone with a 'First Contact'. But we were talking motorcycles here, biker to biker. We discussed the bike. Standard package. He told me the price. I agreed. It's like buying a Ferrari. You don't negotiate the price. He then brought his finance gal, Gigi, on the line to work out the details and, leaving me in good hands, he bids me adieu.
Gigi is fantastic. Pictures of the bike were emailed. Upgrades discussed and agreed to and the final price list is forwarded. The deal was completed that day. The only glitch was getting it inked.
The Catalyst - Post #22
Oddly enough, about a month earlier, I had been sitting in a restaurant with a colleague of mine, talking about what's next. I told him I was unclear but I sure did love riding. That Angel and I were thinking about heading back to Arizona in the near future. He says, "Why don't you just buy one of your own if you are that committed"? I say it's hard to justify such an expense when faced with all other obligations at the moment. And I don't know if my back would hold up over time. He says get over it and just do it. "Yeah, yeah, easy for you to say, but I doubt I could ever convince Angel on that whole program".
He asks, "What would you buy if you had the chance"? I tell him oh that's easy. There's only one bike in the world worth owning and that's a Harley Davidson Heritage Softail Classic in burgundy red. With fuel injection. Fuel injection. He asks if he was to buy a bike, given my understanding of him and my experience with bikes, would I recommend the same ride for him? I reply without any hesitation "Hell no. You'd kill a Harley in your first year. You demand so much from your machines and equipment, you'd flog the thing to death. You need nothing less than a BMW".
This guy is a completely possessed nut case. (Herein after referred to as "Nut Bar" or "NB" for short). I have never met anyone so driven or overwhelmingly focused on the job at hand. He is completely obsessed with any task he gets his mitts on, to accomplish it in the face of total adversity. This boy needs high performance. Nothing "touring" about him. He needs the Panzer tank of cycles.
And true to form, about four weeks after our lunch, I'm sitting in my living room one Saturday morning, sipping my coffee, reading the morning paper and the dog starts barking her freaking head off in the window, 'cause of some commotion in the driveway. I get up and go to the window and here is the Nut Bar stepping off a brand new, emerald green, BMW RT 1100!!!! The part that is somewhat incredible is that prior to our lunch, (so he tells me later) he had never even thought about riding, let alone buying a bike.
Immediately following our lunch he signed up for the motorcycle licensing course. He completed it in three weeks, bought the bike and showed up in my drive way asking, "Have you got yours yet? C'mon man!! What are you waiting for?? Let's go!! Git 'er done!"
Yikes! How shitty do I feel now?
So with the peer pressure in my face and Angel's big payday, the stage is set, the path is cleared and I boldly set out for where I thought I would never get to go.
But when you have wanted something so badly for most of your life and it suddenly comes to fruition, you can't just walk down to the corner store and pick one out. No siree. This is a massively huge deal. And the actual acquisition has to be as epic as the overall conclusion. I realize very quickly that my next major obstacle will be convincing Angel that this bike needs to be purchased about as far from home as I can possibly get. That way I can fly to her and ride her home. Vancouver should do nicely, me thinks.
Thursday, 12 April 2012
Angels Offer - Post #21
I had begun riding in earnest around the age of 35. I had done some in the university years just to quench the thirst but when I hit my mid-30s I renewed my licence and took off for the southern U.S.. I had joined a frequent-rider club that involved Harley rentals throughout the southern states. At first I was on my own, but then Angel began joining me. I absolutely adored everything about it. I think there was a time when she actually loved it, too, but her passion was no match for mine. I savoured perfect conditions and enjoyed some of the most gorgeous scenery in the world. I travelled through Florida, California, Nevada and Arizona primarily. Top to bottom, border to border.
It was all about packing the bike and driving away. We would go for one or two weeks at a time, and never with the kids.
Well, this went on for years and then, with my two injuries and the greatest part of my rehab behind me, I began looking for a new focus that would give me that purpose or thrill that was now missing. It wasn't to be diving or participating in the martial arts any longer, because I just wasn't capable. And It probably shouldn't be riding either because I wasn't supposed to sit. But riding was all-consuming.
Then Angel, who had gone back to work in the residential real estate industry, walked in the door one day with a substantial cheque from selling a house, hands it to me and says, "This is for you, for looking after us all these years. Time for you to go and buy the bike you've always wanted, don't you think"? With a house to maintain, a mortgage, two kids to get through university, etc,, I always thought I would have to enjoy my riding through the rental club. It's just too expensive a toy to think of actually owning. And the season here in Ontario is really too short to justify the kind of riding I enjoy --- long distance. Over long periods of time. Load 'em up and drive away. It was never about fair weather. Sunday drives to the store to pick up bread. That's OK, too. But it was the adventure of heading out on lengthy overnight trips to the unknown that captured me. To travel the small stuff out and back over days or weeks.
Angel's offer blew me away. With all the other priorities we had in our lives, she knew just how passionate I was about this and how, if never lived, would always be chewing at me. I like to believe I could live with that. Forever. Because of all the other fantastic things we shared. But being given full support to go and get the wheels I've wanted my whole life was absolutely mind-blowing to me. I was completely and totally overwhelmed by the prospect. But not so much that I thought of talking her out of it. I jumped all over her. Then I jumped all over it. And began the process of putting it all together.
It was all about packing the bike and driving away. We would go for one or two weeks at a time, and never with the kids.
Well, this went on for years and then, with my two injuries and the greatest part of my rehab behind me, I began looking for a new focus that would give me that purpose or thrill that was now missing. It wasn't to be diving or participating in the martial arts any longer, because I just wasn't capable. And It probably shouldn't be riding either because I wasn't supposed to sit. But riding was all-consuming.
Then Angel, who had gone back to work in the residential real estate industry, walked in the door one day with a substantial cheque from selling a house, hands it to me and says, "This is for you, for looking after us all these years. Time for you to go and buy the bike you've always wanted, don't you think"? With a house to maintain, a mortgage, two kids to get through university, etc,, I always thought I would have to enjoy my riding through the rental club. It's just too expensive a toy to think of actually owning. And the season here in Ontario is really too short to justify the kind of riding I enjoy --- long distance. Over long periods of time. Load 'em up and drive away. It was never about fair weather. Sunday drives to the store to pick up bread. That's OK, too. But it was the adventure of heading out on lengthy overnight trips to the unknown that captured me. To travel the small stuff out and back over days or weeks.
Angel's offer blew me away. With all the other priorities we had in our lives, she knew just how passionate I was about this and how, if never lived, would always be chewing at me. I like to believe I could live with that. Forever. Because of all the other fantastic things we shared. But being given full support to go and get the wheels I've wanted my whole life was absolutely mind-blowing to me. I was completely and totally overwhelmed by the prospect. But not so much that I thought of talking her out of it. I jumped all over her. Then I jumped all over it. And began the process of putting it all together.
The Brown Room - Post #20
And the years went by. Everything morphed into new priorities. I stood at the office, I swam in the pool and I often thought of just how lucky I was to be able to be here and enjoy all things life still afforded. In some ways life slowed due to the need for daily maintenance. That all kept me home more often than it used to which meant I got to participate more in the wonderful adventure that is home life with Angel and the brats.
But I pined. Some. Never outward and not a lot. And what pining I did I thought I kept effectively to my self. My own stupid fault, after all. But a huge part of me missed all the action of what was. I was always one to be looking for the next thrill. The next adventure. I was an accredited scuba diver. And I had travelled far and wide enjoying some of the best dive sites in the Americas over the last 20 years. Something I did for myself as Angel was never keen on the whole ocean thing. Although she always did the lying on the beach part really well. But diving, too, had come to an end.
I am no expert on what makes a relationship work but I do know that for us it was imperative to have two very separate and fulfilling lives that came together, as often as possible, to share with each other. Angel and I both had that absolutely. Joint interests but somewhat secondary to our own as individuals. And I desperately needed something else to fill a rather substantial gap in that regard.
I had a love of motorcycles that was a lifetime deep. I wanted one since the first day I saw some dude cruise by on one. I dreamed of turning 16 and getting my 'M' licence. To prevent my pursuing that whole avenue, my dear old Dad, to his credit, put as much metal, plastic and cloth between me and everything I was to run into during the learning-to-drive years. And I ran into a lot o' shit. He bought a Ford Econoline 200 van, not for me specifically but to assist with his antique car restoration business. Towing cars and car parts all over eastern Canada and the U.S. became a regular pastime for my brother and me. And we would use the van.
Until one day he and I decided the van would serve us much better if we finished it all up with aluminum mag wheels, shag carpet --- floor and ceiling of course --- a comfy double bed, a wee refrigerator and a giant sound system. Voila! :The Brown Room" as she affectionately became known. And with all the recently installed cosmetics. "We certainly won't be loading all that greasy, oily car shit in 'er anymore, right?
Dear old dad was a little taken back when he had to go out and buy another van. But as we have previously acknowledged, kids are relentless. So he did. And over the next seven years the Brown Room travelled from Vancouver to Newfoundland and from Thunderbay to New York. She had had over 500,000 miles on three engines when we finally laid her to rest on the east coast of The Rock, over 2,500 kilometres from home.
Pops not only provided us with the best memories any teenagers could ever hope for, he saved us busting our selves, or worse, by keeping us both off motorcycles during the insane years. Male teenagers in my day and age just weren't right in the head. And I don't believe anything has changed today. There is a brain rewiring thing that happens in the male teenage years that makes rational thought a very rare occurrence. And therefore a very serious disconnect with bikes that should be addressed. I came to believe, over the years, that no one should be permitted to obtain a licence to ride until they have had 10 years of accident-free driving a car under their belt. This would save a lot of lives. But it seems the time when you want a bike most is when you are young and crazed. The time when you are least capable of dealing with it. Anyway, it's appropriate to take a moment and send thanks to both Mom and Dad for keeping us off 'em until we were less likely to kill ourselves. It is also very reasonable to offer up a "So sorry" to both Mom and Dad for smashing up so many of their cars, vans and trucks while we tried to figure it all out.
But I pined. Some. Never outward and not a lot. And what pining I did I thought I kept effectively to my self. My own stupid fault, after all. But a huge part of me missed all the action of what was. I was always one to be looking for the next thrill. The next adventure. I was an accredited scuba diver. And I had travelled far and wide enjoying some of the best dive sites in the Americas over the last 20 years. Something I did for myself as Angel was never keen on the whole ocean thing. Although she always did the lying on the beach part really well. But diving, too, had come to an end.
I am no expert on what makes a relationship work but I do know that for us it was imperative to have two very separate and fulfilling lives that came together, as often as possible, to share with each other. Angel and I both had that absolutely. Joint interests but somewhat secondary to our own as individuals. And I desperately needed something else to fill a rather substantial gap in that regard.
I had a love of motorcycles that was a lifetime deep. I wanted one since the first day I saw some dude cruise by on one. I dreamed of turning 16 and getting my 'M' licence. To prevent my pursuing that whole avenue, my dear old Dad, to his credit, put as much metal, plastic and cloth between me and everything I was to run into during the learning-to-drive years. And I ran into a lot o' shit. He bought a Ford Econoline 200 van, not for me specifically but to assist with his antique car restoration business. Towing cars and car parts all over eastern Canada and the U.S. became a regular pastime for my brother and me. And we would use the van.
Until one day he and I decided the van would serve us much better if we finished it all up with aluminum mag wheels, shag carpet --- floor and ceiling of course --- a comfy double bed, a wee refrigerator and a giant sound system. Voila! :The Brown Room" as she affectionately became known. And with all the recently installed cosmetics. "We certainly won't be loading all that greasy, oily car shit in 'er anymore, right?
Dear old dad was a little taken back when he had to go out and buy another van. But as we have previously acknowledged, kids are relentless. So he did. And over the next seven years the Brown Room travelled from Vancouver to Newfoundland and from Thunderbay to New York. She had had over 500,000 miles on three engines when we finally laid her to rest on the east coast of The Rock, over 2,500 kilometres from home.
Pops not only provided us with the best memories any teenagers could ever hope for, he saved us busting our selves, or worse, by keeping us both off motorcycles during the insane years. Male teenagers in my day and age just weren't right in the head. And I don't believe anything has changed today. There is a brain rewiring thing that happens in the male teenage years that makes rational thought a very rare occurrence. And therefore a very serious disconnect with bikes that should be addressed. I came to believe, over the years, that no one should be permitted to obtain a licence to ride until they have had 10 years of accident-free driving a car under their belt. This would save a lot of lives. But it seems the time when you want a bike most is when you are young and crazed. The time when you are least capable of dealing with it. Anyway, it's appropriate to take a moment and send thanks to both Mom and Dad for keeping us off 'em until we were less likely to kill ourselves. It is also very reasonable to offer up a "So sorry" to both Mom and Dad for smashing up so many of their cars, vans and trucks while we tried to figure it all out.
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